by J. C. Kenney
To be honest, we could have found a dress in Columbus or Bloomington, both of which were closer than Indy. Shoot, with Slone’s newfound wealth, she could afford to hire a dressmaker from New York to create a one-of-a-kind wedding gown.
Making the trip to the state capitol gave us an excuse to spend the day together, though. Between the increased training and travel that came from her ever-improving race results and my growing client list, spending quality time together wasn’t easy. With Luke and Brent in the picture, carving out time for just the two of us was more challenging than the five-thousand-piece puzzles Mom was doing now that she was home alone most evenings.
After a cup of coffee, I filled Ursi’s food bowl and promised her an extra kitty treat when I got home. She was still on the bed, curled up in a black-and-orange ball. Yesterday’s adventure had left her as worn-out as my battered paperback copy of A Christmas Carol, which I had read every December since I turned thirteen. A quiet day alone would do her good.
I hopped on my bike and pedaled at a languid pace to Luke’s house. Old habits die hard, so it was going to take me a while to think of it as Sloane’s house. Luke and Brent’s remodeling plans for the day would help me remember, in no uncertain terms, the change in status, though.
As I rolled to a stop in front of the house, Brent was carrying drop cloths from his truck to the house. He gave me a kiss as I leaned my bike against the house.
“Is that the best kiss you can give the woman, librarian?” Sloane was at the front door, with her hand on her hip. She was grinning from ear to ear, having caught us in the act. “You’re lucky to be dating a superhero, dude. The least you can do is act like it.”
“Superhero? Yeah, if the superhero’s Mighty Mouse.” My cheeks grew hot as Luke’s voice drifted out of house, to be followed by the man himself, who put his arms around his fiancée, eliciting a giggle from her in the process.
Luke’s jab was harmless. He’d teased me about my tiny stature for years and always followed up his digs by complimenting me about my smarts. In the world of big brothers, he was a keeper.
He took the drop cloths from Brent. “I want to say you can do way better than this bean pole, Allie, but since he’s helping me make my fiancée happy, I’m not going to say that.”
Brent scratched his chin. “I should probably take offense, but I know it’s his way of showing he’s scared of being shown up in the handyman department by a mild-mannered librarian. Just because I like tweed, have a degree in library science, and make my money setting up genealogy departments in libraries doesn’t mean I don’t know my way around construction tools.”
To prove his point, Brent fetched a nail gun and circular saw from the toolbox in his truck and struck a pose like he was a bandit from a Zane Gray novel brandishing a pair of six-shooters. “Say hello to my not-so-little friends.”
Sloane snorted. “Promise us neither of you will end up in the emergency room.”
“And when we return, you’ll have all of your fingers and toes, and dinner will be ready.” I gave her a high five. “Come on, girlfriend. Let’s get going so the alleged manly men can get to work.”
We piled into her Subaru in high spirits. The clouds and rain from Friday had cleared out, so we had blue skies and perfect conditions for driving and shopping. I let out a little whoop as Ed Sheeran’s latest single started playing. The day was off to a fabulous start, and I couldn’t wait for it to get better.
Our first stop was Big Al’s Diner for a hearty breakfast before we hit the road. After the week I’d had, I was in the mood for comfort food. Sloane was good with the idea since I offered to buy.
Al was at the grill and gave us a salute with his spatula as we took our seats at the counter. While we perused the menu, he poured me a mug of coffee and brought Sloane a cup of hot water and a bag of green tea.
“Morning, ladies. What will you have?” Al leaned across the counter and lowered his voice. “I heard you paid my brother a visit the other day.” He straightened up. “And lived to tell about it.”
I tried to give Al the evil eye while Sloane laughed. “I’ll have the western omelet scrambler with an English muffin, please. And yes, I had lunch with your brother. He even paid for it.”
“My brother picking up the tab. It’s a shock to my system.” He put his hand over his heart and put his arm out to the side in a humorously bad imitation of a heart attack. “He either wants something from you or he’s afraid of you.”
“You don’t mess with the Kickboxing Crusader.” Sloane’s gaze never left the menu. “I’ll have the Belgian waffle with strawberry jam, an order of mixed fruit, and for my protein, a side of turkey bacon.”
Al scribbled down her order as he complimented her on her recent race results.
Sloane’s eyes went wide, and her cheeks pinked up at the kind words. “I didn’t know you followed trail running.”
“I don’t.” He gave her a friendly punch to her upper arm. “But I get a kick out of seeing how well you’re doing. It’s a treat to have a professional athlete from Rushing Creek.”
A waitress rang a bell to signal an order was in. “Gotta get back to work. Let me know when you’re finished with breakfast. We’ll talk then.”
As soon as Al was out of earshot, Sloane nudged me with her elbow. “Okay, give me the scoop. Have you solved the mystery yet?”
“Come on. This is your special day. Let’s not spend it talking about unpleasant things. When’s your next race?”
My effort at redirection worked. While we waited for our orders, she told me in animated tones about her run coming up in three weeks.
“It’s the national championship. I’m entered in the twenty-one-kilometer distance. If I win my age group, I get a free entry to the world championship.” She went on to tell me about her training plan leading up to the race, as well as her strategy.
To hear Sloane talking about such prestigious events in an excited but matter-of-fact tone made my heart want to burst for joy. She’d been through so much pain and suffering for so much of her life, culminating in her father’s murder. It was gratifying beyond all measure to see her, finally, pursue her dream full-time. And see it come to fruition.
It wasn’t until Al put our plates in front of us that I was able to get a word in edgewise.
“That will be amazing if you can pull off a win. Do you think you can do that? Not to be a Debbie Downer, but it’ll be your first national championship. I imagine the competition will be ultra-tough.”
“It will be.” Sloane munched on a slice of her turkey bacon. “That’s what makes it so exciting. My mind-set’s changed. When I first thought about entering, I wondered if I could even compete with the best. Now, as my finishing times keep getting better, I know I can. I can compete, and I can win.”
I scooped up a mouthful of omelet and let it melt in my mouth while I got my head around her response. Less than a year ago, my bestie was on the verge of walking away from her dream, like so many people who were forced, or thought they were forced, to choose between a lifelong passion and the realities of everyday living.
For those folks, the need for a steady paycheck had overcome the desire to travel halfway across the country to participate in an event with other athletes or artists. For Sloane, the path to following her dream had been cleared, but she hadn’t just followed the path. She took hold of the opportunity like her life depended on it and sprinted down the path at full speed.
“Pretty cool to see us both actually living out the dreams we talked about when we were younger, huh?”
“Yeah, it is.” She chuckled. “And it wouldn’t have happened without the fearless exploits of the Kickboxing Crusader.”
“Ugh. You had to go and ruin my appetite. Some best friend you are.” Despite my admonishment, I couldn’t keep from grinning, which led both of us to giggling like we were twelve.
We spent the rest
of breakfast getting caught up on the usual things like family news and town gossip. The most interesting piece of news was Sloan’s report that Ozzy had met Shirley over breakfast at the Brown County Diner. Evidently, they’d spent over an hour together and were smiling when they left. Sloane had run into Maybelle, who gave her the full sequence of events, up through this morning.
“According to Maybelle, Ozzy and Shirley had a drink at Hoosiers last night. How’s that for a plot twist?”
“Interesting. I’ll have to pay Shirley a visit and see what I can find out.” I was inclined to discount the story, given its source, but wasn’t in the mood to be disagreeable. Besides, if it was true, that would be welcome news to have them getting along.
When we paid the bill, Al told us to meet him by his truck behind the restaurant. As we walked down the sidewalk toward the back parking lot, Sloane tapped me on the shoulder.
“Do you know what Al’s truck looks like?” It was a valid question.
When I lived in New York, the most common vehicle was a yellow cab. Here in rural southern Indiana, the vehicle of choice, by a mile, was the pickup truck. It wasn’t a stretch to estimate that for every car in Rushing Creek, there was a truck. If you didn’t own one, the odds were better than ninety percent your significant other did.
We reached the end of the building and came to a stop at the edge of a parking lot. Of the dozen vehicles in the lot, seven were trucks. Even though I’d never laid eyes on Al’s, there was no doubt in my mind which one belonged to him.
At the far end of the lot, a massive vehicle gleamed in the sunlight. The shine of its glossy black paint was exceeded only by the near-blinding reflection of the chrome bumpers and trim. It was the largest truck in the lot, taking up the better part of two spaces. To eliminate any doubt about its owner, the truck had a vanity license plate on the front that read big al.
I looked at Sloane.
She crossed her arms like she was deep in thought. “Let’s roll the dice and try the big, black one.”
I adored my bestie’s penchant for silliness.
Al came out of the back of the building as we were halfway across the parking lot. With a long, loping stride, he came alongside me.
“A beautiful day in the making, don’t you think, ladies?” He stretched his arms above his head as he placed a foot on the truck’s front bumper. “It’s always good to take a few minutes to get away from the grill. So, what’s up?”
While I gathered my thoughts, I rolled a pebble back and forth with my shoe. Al and Willie weren’t close, but I didn’t want to insult my friend by unfairly disparaging his brother. I guessed it was time to test the adage about blood being thicker than water.
“The other day was the first time I’ve talked to your brother in a long time. He wasn’t what I expected.” I crossed my fingers in the hope I’d used a sufficient amount of tact in my opening.
Al rolled his eyes. “I get that a lot from people. Was it his attempt to sound like a big-city lawyer or his shirt that’s two sizes too small?”
“Both, actually.” When Al laughed, I joined him. It broke the tension in my gut. “Where did he learn to talk that way? For a while, it was like I was having a conversation with one of my college professors.”
“He’s talked that way for years. It’s his way of trying to sound smarter than me. You didn’t want to talk to me about my brother’s odd habits, though.”
I glanced at Sloane. She knew what I wanted to ask. We’d discussed it on the drive to the restaurant.
After a moment’s hesitation, she put her hand on my forearm. “Go ahead, Allie. He needs to hear this.”
“Do you think your brother could have anything to do with Georgie Alonso’s murder?” In for a dime, in for a dollar, as the saying went.
Al took a multi-tool from his pocket and ran the knife under his fingernails. He was deliberate in his movements, with the assurance of one who had wielded a knife professionally for years. No word was spoken until he’d cleaned all ten digits and put the tool back in his pocket.
“Willie’s no devil. Some could make an argument he’s no angel, either. That said, he’s employed a lot of people over the years. He’s been a good corporate citizen.”
Not the strongest endorsement of a sibling ever.
“About your question.” He looked up as a cloud floated in front of the sun, casting us in shadow. “When it comes to business, he can be unforgiving. His hard-nosed approach is one of the reasons we went our separate ways. If Georgie got himself on Willie’s bad side, that wouldn’t be good. My brother’s not a murderer, though, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Actually, I was thinking more in terms of Willie’s business associates. He told me Georgie liked to gamble, more than he wanted to handle, so he referred Georgie to some bigger-time gamblers he knows.”
“That I believe. Willie likes to play the horses, and he’s not above taking small bets on ball games. I even place a few bets with him on big events.” He leaned close to us. “Don’t tell anyone, but our dad was an accomplished poker player. It wasn’t unusual for him to spend a few days in Vegas, come home, and put his winnings right into the restaurant.”
Sloane let out a long whistle. Her surprise matched mine. Al’s father was known for attending church every Sunday and organizing the annual Thanksgiving meal for the less fortunate. The thought of him sitting at a poker table made my brain freeze up, like a computer that wouldn’t function when a faulty command was entered.
I shook my head to set aside the image. It was yet another secret about my hometown and its citizens. Someday, I’d have to write a book about them all.
“Do you know any of his gambling contacts? I’d like to talk to them about Georgie.” It was way more forward than I wanted to be, but Al’s time was short, and I couldn’t take a chance on wasting it with niceties.
He scratched his forearm as he gave first Sloane, then me, a long, penetrating look. “I might. But I’m not going to give that information to either of you. Those men are dangerous. Let me make some discreet inquiries.”
He had me where he wanted, so I agreed.
I had more one question before we left, though. “Are those men so dangerous they would kill someone?”
Al put one arm around me and the other around Sloane. “Aye. Dangerous enough to kill. And then some.”
Chapter Sixteen
Al’s words left Sloane and me shaken up, so the first part of the drive to Indy was quiet. As we headed north out of town, we passed through a wooded area. Wildflowers along the side of the road were bursting with every color of the rainbow. Behind them, trees stood silent and tall, their brown bark and green leaves a muted complement to the exuberance of the purple, yellow, and red of the flowers.
Sloane finally broke the silence while we were at a four-way stop, waiting for a trio of Canada geese to cross the road. Such was life in rural Indiana.
“Pretty crazy what Al had to say about his brother, huh?” She laid on the horn in a futile attempt to get the geese to pick up their snail-like pace.
“And then some. Do you know Willie very well?”
Thornwell had been a regular at Hoosiers until he quit drinking a short time before he died. Sloane had told me too many times to count about getting a call from the bartender saying her father was too drunk to drive and was demanding his daughter come and take him home.
“Not really. Too many bad, Dad-related memories, so I steered clear of the place. Willie was nice enough to me when we crossed paths, though. God knows he should have been nice, with all the money Dad spent there.”
Ouch. I hadn’t meant to reopen old wounds. Today was supposed to be a day for and about Sloane. I wanted her smiling and laughing, not frowning and sharing memories from the days of her dad’s alcohol abuse. It was time to take control of the conversation with some good news I’d been holding onto until I could shar
e it in person.
“But you and your dad had good days, especially when he was writing again, right?”
That got a nod and a small smile out of her. I was on the right track.
“Speaking of which, I got an e-mail yesterday from a film studio. They want to know if there’s any interest in selling the film rights to The Endless River.”
“Are you kidding me?” Sloane pulled over onto the shoulder of the road. “What are they offering? When do they want to film? Can I be in it? Can I read the script? When do I—”
“Hold on, girl.” Her excitement-induced barrage of questions had me laughing. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. At this point, all they want to know is if you’d be interested in entertaining an offer.”
“Well, duh. Of course I’m interested.” She turned down the radio. “I mean, is there any reason I shouldn’t be?”
“Maybe. Get us back on the road.”
Once we got moving again, I took her through a basic course in how a book became a movie. I wanted her to be aware of two important points. Once she sold the rights to the film, she’d most likely lose all control over the finished product. It was also possible the film might not get made if sufficient financial backing couldn’t be arranged.
“The important thing to keep in mind is you have options. If you’re interested, we can ask for more information. If you get to a point that you want to stop, we’ll stop. You don’t have to agree to anything if you don’t want to.”
“What do you think I should do?”
It was tough giving Sloane advice on an issue like this because she was the only client I had who wasn’t an author. Technically, I was the literary agent for the estate of Thornwell Winchester, so my job was to ensure that the best interests of the estate were represented. As Thornwell’s only child, she was the sole representative of the estate, so all decisions regarding her father’s affairs were left to her.
